


You Do, He Does, Who Cares?

by Kirran (Blackspasmodic)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, mostly martin carrying shame about the fact that he loves tim AND jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25300588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackspasmodic/pseuds/Kirran
Summary: It fucking sucks that he’s so damn intuitive, even when he’s only partially awake, because god you wish he couldn’t tell and that he’d just go back to sleep and leave you alone and not make you talk about it (because you already feel bad enough). How are you supposed to tell him that you’re thinking about another man, while he was holding you?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	You Do, He Does, Who Cares?

You want to reach out to him, you do, it’s just... hard. You’ve experienced first hand with how difficult is is to watch them slip through the cracks of the space where your fingers are not, thinking if only you had one more hand, or if you maybe had no gaps between your fingers at all.

What-if’s. Why-do’s. How-can’s.

You stir in his arms. Not that him, Tim, and you feel horrible for it. You love Tim, he’s good to you, he’s good for you, but when have you ever once chased anything you already have? Too ambitious, too selfish, not appreciative enough, and always at the wrong time.

You curl in on yourself. In your loving boyfriends embrace, warm under the covers, and all you can think of is him. (Again, not the right him.) You don’t even love him necessarily, it’s just something about him that forces you to gravitate towards him. Something about people who need help. Something about your innate need to feel as if you’re needed, so much so that you’ll convince yourself that they’re suffering, that they’re hurting. For once in your life, you wish that attraction was supernatural in nature, and not just some result of your brain and whatever freak complexes it developed from a childhood of neglect.

While you don’t want anyone you love to hurt to hurt, if they’re not hurting, what need do they have for you Asking these questions while all the while the person behind you pulls you deeper into his arms.

And you feel horrible for it. You are horrible for it, and you-

You’re pulled out of your thoughts as his voice, heavy with sleep (just like you imagine his eyes would be, had you been facing towards him),

“Martin? You awake?” You feel the vibrations of Tims voice travel from his chest to your own as you startle a bit. Tims always been a light sleeper, so it figures that he would wake from the constant shifting that the entirety of your miserable existence forces upon you, and so you think its better for the both of you that you play dead for the time being.

Unfortunately, it seems that you are neither good at refraining from fidgeting while you’re awake, or regulating your anxious breathing in a way that even remotely makes it seem as if you’re asleep.

He sits up in a way that, had you actually been asleep, would have waken you up, with the prop you were so curled into rising and causing your left shoulder to fall onto the bed, leaving you belly up. Tim pushed back what little of his neck length locks that covered his eyebrows with his left hand, propping his body with the other as he sat up proper.

“Martin?” Your staggered breathing felt louder somehow, and he knows that you know that he knows. “You do know its 2 A.M, and you know Jon’s going to have both of our asses if [we’re](http://www.apple.com) late again,” he grumbles on for a minute in a sleep induced stupor before trailing off and realizing somethings... amiss. It fucking sucks that he’s so damn intuitive, even when he’s only partially awake, because god you wish he couldn’t tell and that he’d just go back to sleep and leave you alone and not make you talk about it, because you already feel bad enough. How are you supposed to tell him that you’re thinking about another man, while he was holding you? You don’t want to talk about it, and you know he’s not going to let it go, and you figure the best thing to do is just, lay there, and curl in on yourself (for the second time that night), and wait for the dreaded question that you know is going to come. It’s actually almost laughable that you’re the one in the institute with the reputation for always wanting to talk things out as a first choice, when you know how intensely you dread it when roles are reversed.

“Martin,” You take another breath, a shallow exhale accompanying it, “-are you okay?”

You could say yes, but then he’ll think you’re pissed again and that he’s done something wrong when, no, he’s done every possible thing (that he has control over) right. So you know it’s you that’s wrong, and in a way you’ve always known, but being forced to say it outloud makes you acknowledge a problem that shouldn’t exist in the first place. So that rules out saying ‘no,’ as well.

He rests his hand on your back, letting you know he’s talking to you, because at this point he knows you’re awake and he wants to let you know that he does. You just wanted to prolong the inevitable and at this point, this is just as far as the inevitable is going to allow you to go.

You gradually make your way up to sit beside on on the bed, lower half still covered by the duvet, while his half is tossed aside, bunching the thick fabric between the two. You suppose that could count as a metaphor, of sorts. Your back is hunched over, and your eyeline doesn’t reach his gaze.

“Yeah- I’m just, I don’t know, I suppose I’m just thinking about things again.”

“When are you ever not? It’s practically the middle of the night, must be pretty heavy to be keeping you up, no?”

Silence continues.

“-Is it about the Archives? He didn’t pull a statement from you did he? I swear to god I’ll kill him-“

“No! Jesus fuck Tim, no he did not pull a statement from me, he’s not that bad of a person as you make him out to be, you know.” Tim did not need another reason to hate anything associated with the Archive, or more importantly, Jon.

“Right. So that’s it then.” You run your fingers through your hair, what do you say in this situation? Yes, you’re infatuated with your boss who treats both of you like shit and you’re so backed up in the ‘putting your feelings on the table,’ bullshit that you can’t even admit to yourself (much less him) that you love two people. A tired exhale escapes.

“I’m going to go, get some you some water.” and like that, he’s gone, and not one of you feels any better coming out of the interaction.


End file.
